


Conversation With Director Morrow

by Ytteb



Series: Conversations [7]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 16:15:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16222703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ytteb/pseuds/Ytteb
Summary: Director Morrow catches up with his newest agent - and the conversation does not go quite as he expected.





	Conversation With Director Morrow

Director Tom Morrow hissed with annoyance as the elevator went down towards the basement rather than up to his own office.  He had forgotten to check the direction of travel when got in; he hoped it wasn’t a foretaste of the day to come.

The elevator reached its destination and the doors swept open to reveal the Director’s newest agent who was towelling his hair dry with one hand and checking his cell with the other.  When he saw that the elevator had arrived, the agent draped the towel around his neck and used the newly free hand to pick up his backpack.  He strode through the open door and then paused when he saw the Director,

“Oh!  Morning, Sir.  Director,” he said.

“Special Agent DiNozzo,” acknowledged the Director.

Tom had not met the new agent in person, but his secretary had told him that DiNozzo was _talkative_.  Morrow had wondered how that would fit with Agent Gibbs who was famously monosyllabic even on his voluble days.  Tom waited to see what would happen and could see that DiNozzo was torn between an instinct to make conversation and an inability to think of anything to say.  Tom was stern but not without compassion – and he was curious,

“Is it raining?” he asked.

Tony looked upwards as if he could see the weather through the elevator shaft, “Um, I don’t know, Sir.  I could find out for you … if you want to know.”

“I just wondered,” said Tom, “Your hair is wet.”  He indicated the towel.

“Oh, I see.  No, Sir, it didn’t get wet in the rain … it wasn’t raining when I came in.”

Tom waited politely and finally Tony seemed to realise that his Director was curious about why his hair was wet.

“It got wet in the shower,” said Tony, “I mean the _shower_ … the men’s locker room shower … not a rain shower.”

“You used the men’s locker room shower?”

There was something in Tom’s tone of voice that sounded an alarm for Tony, “Agent Gibbs said it would be all right,” he said defensively.

This was another puzzle.  Tom tried not to interfere with Gibbs’ methods with his team, but it was generally known that Gibbs sometimes denied his agents the use of the showers at work; perhaps, thought Tom, the guy was mellowing at last – going more gently with his newest recruit.  Maybe, Tom dared to hope, that last sensitivity seminar had borne fruit after all … the day was looking up.

“You don’t have a shower at home?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir,” said Tony.  “Of course.”

Director Morrow remembered that he had a busy day ahead and that he had made a special effort to get in early before anyone could _get_ to him.  It often gave him a headache even to _think_ about Gibbs and he couldn’t afford not to be at the top of his game that day: he decided to shelve the mystery of the MCRT for the moment.  He pressed the elevator button.

“We must have a talk sometime,” he said, “I’ll get my secretary to arrange something.”

Tony nodded; he realised that he had been put on the backburner for the moment.

Or perhaps not.  The elevator made a sad whining, crunching sound and came to a halt.  And then it slipped down a couple of feet.

“What?” exclaimed Tom.

“I think it’s stopped,” said Tony helpfully.  Or perhaps not so helpfully when he saw the Director glare at him.  “But you know that,” he added, also not helpfully.  He reached across to the panel and pressed a few buttons without any visible effect.  “Shall I press the alarm?” he asked.  “I’ll press the alarm,” he said in response to another glare.

Silence fell in the elevator.  A silence only broken by the sound of an occasional drop of water from Tony’s hair falling to the ground.  The Director tried to divert his mind from inappropriate, and disturbing, memories of accounts of Chinese water torture.

Tony, inevitably, broke the silence, “Perhaps maintenance aren’t in yet,” he suggested.  “It’s early, after all.”

Tom frowned at this; the building was in use 24/7 and he thought that maintenance should be too.

“Or perhaps the alarm doesn’t work,” continued Tony.

“Why wouldn’t it be working?” asked Tom who was puzzled by this as a suggestion.

“Well … you know,” said Tony.

“No, I don’t know,” said Tom curtly.

Tony shuffled uneasily, and Tom finally remembered some _scuttlebutt_ which he had previously dismissed, “You mean because Agent Gibbs throws the off switch?” he asked.

Tony shuffled uneasily again, a worried look on his amiable face.  Tom admired his loyalty but was feeling increasingly irritated.

“I didn’t believe it when I heard it,” Tom muttered, “Using the elevator as a _conference_ room!  Not as if he ever wants to use a _real_ one.  Has he stopped the elevator with you in it, Agent DiNozzo?”

“Er … sometimes,” Tony admitted.

“And did the alarm sound?”

“Um, not that I noticed, Sir.”

“Huh!  And how long did he keep it stopped?”

“It … varied, it depended …”

“On what?”

“How mad he was with me,” came the simple answer.

“Someone will notice, won’t they?” asked Morrow.

“Bound to,” said Tony reassuringly, “Although …”

“Although, what?”

“This elevator doesn’t get used that much.  And it’s still early … but someone will notice.  I mean, they’ll miss _you_ , won’t they, Sir? Director.”

“Well,” said Morrow, “I was meant to be at the Pentagon, but the meeting got cancelled.  I didn’t tell my secretary …”

“Oh?”

“She has a tendency to fill my diary,” confessed Morrow, “And I wanted to clear some time …”

“Ah,” said Tony understandingly.

“What about you?”

“What about me, Sir?”

“Will Gibbs be looking for you?”

“It’s haircut Tuesday.”

“Excuse me?”

“Haircut Tuesday.  Gibbs has his hair cut today.”

“Hmph.  Well, that shouldn’t take long,” said Tom brutally.

“Well … I don’t know … I think he sometimes likes to chat with his barber,” said Tony.

“What?”

“Or something,” admitted Tony, “He sometimes comes in later than you’d think for someone who’s just had an appointment for a pudding bowl being slapped on his head.”

Tom suppressed a smile at the picture.  “So, it looks as if neither one of us is going to be missed for a while?”

Tony shrugged, and Tom spotted that he looked a little weary.  Tom suspected that he’d like to sit down and realised that he probably didn’t think he could while the Director was standing.

“Might as well make ourselves comfortable,” he announced, and he lowered himself to the floor.  Tony gave his characteristic shuffle and remained standing until Tom gestured for him to sit.  “So,” Tom continued, “Why did you have a shower at work?”

Tony couldn’t shuffle while sitting down but he managed an awkward shrug, “I was sweaty,” he said finally.

“But you have a shower at home?  I mean, the temperature hasn’t been that high … Agent DiNozzo, do you get so hot on your journey to work that you need to shower when you get here?”

“Well …” it seemed that Tony was embarrassed.

“I’m sure Dr Mallard would be happy to advise, confidentially, if there is a medical problem,” suggested Tom delicately.

“No!  No, that’s fine, Sir.  Really, thank you.  But there’s no _medical_ issue.”

“Then I don’t understand,” said Tom.  He was beginning to feel a Gibbs-induced headache coming on.  “Why do you need to shower at work?”

“Because I run to work,” said Tony.

“Why do you do that?  Can’t you afford to drive?  Or take the bus?” asked Tom in increased anxiety.

“I’ve got a car,” said Tony and then added hastily, “And gas in the tank.  And I can afford to go by bus.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“It’s part of Agent Gibbs’ initiation,” said Tony.

“Excuse me?”

“He thinks I need to improve my physical fitness …”

Tom looked doubtfully at his newest agent’s lean physique and wondered what weakness Gibbs had spotted.

“And to get to know my way around DC,” Tony continued.

“I don’t understand.”

“So, Agent Gibbs picks me up from my apartment and then drops me a few miles from the Navy Yard and tells me to work out where I am and then run to work.  He gives me a time limit each day.”

“What?”

“Agent Gibbs picks me …”

“You mean, Gibbs makes you run into work?”  Tony nodded.  “Every day?”

“Most days.  He lets me sleep in on Sundays – if we’re not on call,” said Tony who apparently saw nothing wrong with this.  He noticed that the Director looked troubled and tried to be reassuring, “It’s working.”

“Eh?”

“I’m getting good at knowing my way around DC.”

“And the fitness?”

Tony smiled, and Tom found himself puzzled: he didn’t quite know how to interpret the smile.

“How far does he make you run?”

“Usually about five miles, sometimes longer,” came the nonchalant reply.

Part of Tom wanted to open his briefcase and look at some of his paperwork, but he found he was uneasy.  He had read DiNozzo’s file but had put off talking to the man because, as a busy man, he thought it might be a waste of time; Gibbs had a reputation for running off new recruits and, on paper, this new agent didn’t look like a stayer.  Now, his conscience pricked him,

“So, how are you enjoying being with NCIS?” he asked.

“ _Enjoy_?” queried Tony, “Oh, it’s fine, Sir.  Thank you.”

“And working with Agent Gibbs: how’s that going?”

“He’s demanding,” replied Tony, “But I know he’s good at the job.  I’m learning a lot.”

“And … how are you coping with the _demands_?” probed Tom.

“I think he has a reason for them,” said Tony.

“And that makes it OK?”

Tony shrugged.  “We worked well in Baltimore.  He saw something in me – I’ll go along with that.”

Tom frowned, and he thought back to Tony’s recruitment file, “You know,” he said tentatively, “You deserve to be here.”

“Sir?”

“The reports from your previous departments …”

“My _three_ previous departments,” said Tony wryly.

“Yes, your three previous police departments.  All your senior officers gave you glowing recommendations.  They obviously didn’t want you to leave.”

“Good to know, Sir,” said Tony blandly.

“So, you don’t have to think that NCIS – Gibbs – was the only person who would offer you a job.”

“Sir?”

“What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to let your gratitude towards Gibbs … well, colour the way he treats you.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Sir.”

“Agent Gibbs is a fine agent and I believe in the chain of command, but you don’t have to let him … bully you,” said Tom firmly.

“I see.”  Tony rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully and the gesture triggered another memory for Tom.

“Er, Gibbs sometimes used to _get_ your predecessor’s attention by delivering a slap to the back of the head …”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Has he done that to you?”

“Yes, Sir.  But it’s all right, I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“I think Stan, the agent before you, sometimes thought it was a sign of affection,” suggested Tom.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s that,” said Tony, “Or at least, not yet.  It’s a wakeup call.”

“And do you need them?”

“Not always.  Sometimes.  And they don’t hurt.”

“They don’t?”

“No, I usually know they’re coming.  It’s a matter of timing.  If you move at the last moment the momentum is lost.”

“Oh, good to know,” said Tom.  He thought about asking for further instruction but decided that if Gibbs ever head-slapped _him_ , he’d be out of NCIS quicker than a forced march on ice.  “So, there’s nothing you’re worried about?  Dolores Bromstead in HR would be more than happy to talk through any worries you might have.”

Tony grinned: this time it was a grin of pure mischief and Tom suspected that the new recruit had already pretty much sized up the relationship between Dolores and Gibbs.

“All right then,” said Tom.  He felt he had done as much as he could for the moment, but he resolved to keep an eye on Gibbs and DiNozzo.  There was always a strange dynamic between Gibbs and his team members: they either ran away screaming within an hour or seemed to bond almost for life with an ability to endure treatment other agents would regard as abuse.  Still, it might be time to rein Gibbs in.

“Where did Gibbs drop you off today?” he asked conversationally.

Tony stared at him for a few moments and then seemed to come to a decision.  “Walter Reed Medical Centre.”

“What?  That’s more than five miles!”

Tony’s face hardened, and Tom felt a slight chill go down his spine.

“Gibbs doesn’t check,” said Tony.

“Excuse me?”

“He tells me to run and he assumes that I do.”

“And?”

“I figure I’m pretty fit.  Learning to find my way around DC is a good idea so, when Gibbs drops me off, I usually find a bus stop or go to the nearest Metro station.  I run the last half mile or so, gives me some energy for the day.”

Tom was fascinated, “And Gibbs doesn’t think that you get to the Navy Yard super-fast?”

“I usually stop off for breakfast or a coffee,” said Tony, “I make sure the timing’s about right.”

“And you haven’t told him?” asked Tom.

“If he asked, I’d tell him.”

“But he doesn’t ask?”

“Nope.  He’s a strong leader, he takes it for granted that people do what he tells them.”

“And you don’t?”

“I do most of the time.  And, on the job, I follow orders.”

“Tony,” said Tom, using his given name for the first time, “Are you _managing_ Gibbs?”

Tony thought about this, “Agent Gibbs is good at his job.  Like I said, I’m learning a lot from him.  He works best when he feels that he’s in sole charge … when he doesn’t have to second guess his people.”

“So, you let him think that you do everything he tells you?  To bolster his self-image?”

“I guess.  For everyone’s benefit.  Team works best when Agent Gibbs is focussed.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Letting Gibbs do all this stuff to you …”

“The head-slaps don’t hurt,” said Tony firmly.

“But …” began Tom.

“And the early morning ‘runs’ are OK too.  It makes Gibbs happy and they’ve been useful.”

“Just not in the ways Gibbs foresaw,” said Tom.

Tony shrugged.

“But …” began Tom.

Tony’s face hardened still further, “With respect, Sir, I won’t allow myself to be intimidated or bullied.  Agent Gibbs sometimes delivers his orders loudly, abruptly or just plain rudely – I ignore the tone so long as I agree with the order.  I didn’t expect Agent Gibbs to treat me with kid gloves when he hired me – and I haven’t been disappointed.  I’m here to do a job and I’ll do it to the best of my ability and, if I need to, I’ll stand up for myself.”

Tom gazed at his new agent and found himself impressed.  Somehow, his previous fleeting observations of DiNozzo with a permanent grin and puppylike following of Gibbs hadn’t gibed with the reports from Peoria, Philadelphia and Baltimore which had described a dedicated and committed officer.  That day, in a stalled elevator, Tom decided he had met the real DiNozzo and approved of him.

“Then, carry on,” said Tom.

Tony simply nodded.

A few moments later, Maintenance realised that it was the Director who was stuck in the elevator rather than some helpless Gibbs’ minion: the rescue was swift and apologetic.

Tony courteously helped the Director to his feet and gestured for him to go first,

“T-T-thank you, Director Tomorrow … I mean, Mr Today … I mean, Director M-M-morrow,” stammered Tony as if suffering from surfeit of nerves after being trapped with such an eminent personality.

Gibbs was on hand to deliver a swift head-slap and Tom was able to admire Tony’s technique to reduce the impact.  Gibbs strode off towards his desk, sure that Tony would follow immediately.  And he did, but he briefly turned back to Director Morrow and delivered the faintest of winks.

Morrow nodded in return.  He would keep an eye on the MCRT but, somehow, he thought that Gibbs had, inadvertently, met his match and NCIS had gained an unexpected asset.

 

 


End file.
